How real is real ?

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

The truth is stranger than fiction.....

Submitted: November 05, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 05, 2017



How real is real?


-A flash fiction -


By - J. Eros




I've begun to believe, that a place called “Heaven” does not truly exist. Time is but an example of how little we mean to this world. Eighty years of life, towards no exceptional end. Dead center at the window pane. Dead, in most every conceivable way .My grandfather, the former, loyal medical scientist. Employed at a renowned research and development corporation in his prime. On a steady decline of importance, of purpose. Since then, the less than profitable company has tossed him to the wayside. As just another causality, of an ever waging war on counterproductivity. None of that business concerns me. I am only engaged to my thoughts, of the increasing struggle to understand him. Maybe, it's that he's like me. That's why they left him too. Both of us, with little to offer; not much available to gain. Perhaps, they made the right choice. Leaving me imprisoned in disadvantage, clinging to white linen. My holding cell, my bars.Very little love or anything at all, has escaped through the cracks in the wall I've built. Always being tested, always sturdy.Though the true test is yet to come, that's what i like to think. That there is a reason for Ava , and her cane. Ava and her brittle bones, let's crawl inside her weak mind. Enter a world,where I see the old man everyday now , staring out at a far reaching ;yellow display. A faintly noticeable emptiness hangs around him, at times he showed so little movement ;I believed him to be dead. Nothing more than a part of the surrounding structure, oddity by day; apparition by night. A decayed piece of the puzzle,not yet solved.

I've thought to move him , though why take away what little pleasure he has left? It seems as though he would rather be beyond the window pane. Freedom is his desire , such as every person. Mother ,Father, Mark; even i find myself staring beyond that window in search of something more. Imagining myself woven within that sea of sunflowers, being shaped with the wind. Such a caress, timeless, formless ,distance. A flat range of possibility, gently tucked beneath a sapphire sky . I see where his ambition lies , his eyes drawn with patience. Waiting for something not apparent to the rest of the world. An angelic spirit,  to usher him away ; to less of an absence of existence. While i spend my hours, longing to only exist. Seeking to gather what little fragments i have left, to comprise a conclusion. I know the beginning of it all ,and the end. This puts me at center stage,looking to fill the void between the two.Slumped over a walnut desk . An accompaniment ,warped by the challenge of time. All of this, tangible, and intangible;  wrapped in a warm summer day. Days such as this , only hours, minutes, seconds.

Scripted instances, with the familiar scent of old mahogany framework. There has always been a strong, dankness emanating through these corridors. One, that we cannot simply be rid of. It rests within the foundation , or truly deeper, within the damned soil. Hellish earth, that spans for miles. Dark sun baked tar, with little nutrient properties, not for a single living thing. Except for the cradle, of long stalks expanding out into yellow expression.Captivating, their colors blending in motion of the soft breeze .Hypnotizing ,I can't look away. A deep inner fear grows ,a fear of losing control of my own faculties. I have to rip myself away from such a fantasy for a time. If not , I'd lose focus , I'd lose it all in the dream.  


I'd been posted at my workplace of sorts for an hour,or two, maybe three.

My employment position ?

Trying to contemplate my next move, forward or back. Progress or regress.

As of late , it's been a power struggle between the two. Everyday after a while ,

I drift off into a deep sleep. A day sleep, where I may not wake until well into the evening,

or by the whims of fate; perhaps not at all.


This day , I felt it coming on strong. Wearing into me heavily, I tried to resist but I succumbed. Falling , and falling …… Until…..

I hit a hard surface, a wooden structure beneath me,

the floor, cold and hardly comforting.

Waning in and out of disorientation , I heard the soft sound of an opening door.

Slowly, scattered sunlight poured into the doorframe from another room.

Light rays shattered the darkness of my slumbering prison. It guided me , and I shuffled through the doorway. Following its warmth , I reached out with pale, sickly hands to shield my eyes from the flood of light.

There I saw him, making his way beyond the entrance. Heading towards a forestry of sunflower , as if he were unable to control himself. Driven mad by a lust of curiosity or a longing of something lost .

I wanted to call to him , instead words would not proceed from my lips. I could only stay leaned against the door frame in bewilderment. Watching him as he disappeared through the stalks.

I couldn't move , struck with fear , awe , and total weakness. Through the outstretched stalks ,

A barely visible, man or creature, a thing of yellow of appearance, as it seemed to blend with it’s surroundings, at first it seemed to be just an abnormality among a mass of flowers.  

Dysfunctional it was, it’s  figure, was far beyond appalling.Too thin in shape to be human, or anything living thing for that matter.It’s limbs folded past on another, as if it were a puppet.Being operated from some unseen force,  causing it to have such ill movement. Moving to and fro , it embraced him with arms outstretched. I will say ,that I could only make out glimpses of this figure. It was then when i noticed this , as if it had plumbed my thoughts and answered my intrigue. That it’s face, became clear to be seen, burned into my corneas from even such a distance as fifty yards.

A face that sustained the constant expression of mischief, and malevolence.

Gazing ever so intensely beyond the old man, to lock eyes with me.

A duel of contemplating stares ,that lasted not long before it raised an arm. Or whatever thing it was that protruded from its figure. As i watched this , subconsciously my arm raised as well. Standing there in the summer sun , mirroring each other's motions, I felt a deep connection of understanding. As soon as this feeling arrived , it fled from me. I was thrown backwards onto the hardwood floor and knocked unconscious.


I awoke at my desk , and it seemed that those were only fragmented recollections of what took place hours ago. Hours ago to my estimation, strictly for the reason that the clock read “5:16”. I'm not sure of the amount of time that had passed, or what time it was then. Time is a fleeing principle of this place, we cannot fully grasp it. Though we chase after it longing for its comfort. It had been this way for as long as I could recall, this place had been dreams and distortions since the very beginning of my memories.


For that reason it looked to only be a dream , a distortion; though I know it wasn't .

The old man was gone, just like Mother, Father, and Mark. No trace , nothing left except strange sketches and disorganized scribblings. Similar, to what was on my desk in front of me. That damned apparition, i have not a single memory of it ,beyond these sketches.

I remember it’s fragments, like a far off dream. Only bits and pieces, and even now my memory fades further. Forsaking ,and forgetting little by little. All of that day and it's every sentiment.  Day by day I gaze out at the field, although I'm too weary to venture beyond the outer edge. I feel it's taunting menace, eating away at my self control.

How foolish it would be to leave this place, but what really is contained at the center of it all.

What perils lie within its bosom, perhaps nothing at all. In inconsistency, insanity guides me now, directing me to simmering thoughts. Paranoid delusions , visions of a broken woman, failed attempts ; and so much time squandered.

I am frequently disturbed during late hours , always to see them dancing through the night.

Dashing, and twirling about through the fields . Dark, devilish entities, drawing closer.

Closing the distance as they frolic impishly . Taunting me to join them, in their playful ritual.

But they will never go beyond the edge of the field.They stand , waiting just barely visible.

If you weren't searching for them you'd never see them. And they just exist there for a while, until their figures fade. Blending, and camouflaging in with the rest of the shadows of night.

Then, you find yourself in unfamiliar place. Unknowing of who you are, or how you got there.

Believing that , this house is your own. Thinking you've lived there for, as long as you can recall.

As it slowly fades, and you lose piece by piece.

You realize, you don't want to remember.

You don't need to remember.

You don't feel.

You don’t do.

You wonder what that is, and then…...


The abstract thought flees your mind, no hope, no fear, no pain, no humanity.

We can hardly remember much of ourselves. We know we’re here, We’re just not sure where here is anymore. Privileged, the first to realize, only the sunflowers, that's whee we all are.

Some of us just, don't know it yet.

Bending in the wind, just a consciousness, dreaming, contemplating.

Wondering about a different life, a different place. A past life, a far off reality. Are we truly alive?

Or just existing on this plane, in the parallel. A truly terrible fate, a woeful  ending. Although soon enough this will all fall away. We are one, basking, and existing in total silence, complete.  


© Copyright 2019 J. Eros. All rights reserved.

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